Experiments
by Saeto
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories.  UPDATE: Spoilers for P2 in Chapter 10!
1. Alex's Date

He'd spent hours agonizing over the perfect suit to wear that night. He'd found a moderately tall building to perch on and spied each man in a business suit until he found one he liked- the right age, the perfect fashionably-cut dress clothes, handsome enough for his standards (though at this point it was rather difficult to gauge such things- he'd been wearing the same clothes for months now). Getting the clothes was simply a matter of stealth, though he was extra careful to keep the blood to a minimum.

The night had started pretty well, actually. His date had chosen the restaurant, and as they were being seated he'd noticed the staff actually seemed to recognize him. This gave him pause, until he realized he was wearing the face of a young, handsome man who had until recently been quite rich (and alive). Odds were the man had been here before, and judging by the looks the wait-staff were giving him, with a different woman each time.

His date was doing most of the talking, which suited him just fine. Alex sat with his elbow on the table, chin in hand, watching her with an unintentionally dreamy expression. She was perfect in every way- long, wavy blonde hair and bright green eyes, a slinky black dress that left little to the imagination.

She paused and looked at him expectantly, and jerked back to reality. A waiter was standing beside her, and she handed him her menu. "Well? Are you going to order?" she wondered with a slight smirk, as though she knew all too well he'd been distractedly staring at her the whole time.

"Oh, yes," Alex muttered, glancing down at his menu, completely lost. None of it sounded appetizing, strangely enough, so he handed his menu to the waiter and said, "Uh, just surprise me."

They made small talk until their salads arrived. His date reached over and placed a manicured hand on his, fixing him with a devilish smile, and Alex's heart skipped a beat. He had memories to guide him in this- none of them his own, true, but it was better than nothing.

"So, uh... It was nice of you to ask me out like this." He gave an inward cringe at how high-pitched his voice was coming out.

His date took a sip of wine, her eyes never leaving his. "Well, you did save my life," she said, her soft voice difficult to hear over the other restaurant's patrons. "I don't make it habit of wandering around dark alleys, in case you were wondering," she gave him a sardonic smirk. "I got turned around. There were a few tanks in the cross-street and I figured it'd be better to avoid them than take my chances with those jarheads."

Alex snorted. "I agree with you there."

"Unfortunately, what was lurking in that alley was far more dangerous."

Luckily for her, the handful of stray infected she had encountered hadn't been the most dangerous thing stalking the alley that night. Alex had been sitting in the fire escape above them, and in a fit of whimsy had decided to investigate the screams. He didn't usually go about saving civilians, but he'd been bored that night.

The alley had been dark, thankfully, because when he jumped down to investigate he hadn't bothered with a disguise. He took the infected out with little decorum- a punch to the chest took out one of them, and he'd picked up the second and thrown it at the third, grinning as they both hit the alley wall with a satisfyingly wet smack. He turned on the woman, then, intending to consume her, and-

He couldn't. She'd stood, silhouetted against the light at the mouth of the alley, her blonde hair waving slightly in a cold fall breeze- and she'd smiled at him, unafraid. She'd walked up to him and took him by the still-bloody hand, and thanked him with a kiss on the cheek.

And that was all it took. She asked Alex if he wanted to go out sometime, and he'd said "yes" before he'd even had a second to think it over. It was stupid- monumentally stupid- to even consider, going on a date with a woman who'd seen him, seen what he could do, could probably put two and two together if she ever really thought it over. His name and face were plastered all over the news- he was a terrorist, a murderer, not even human. But he said 'yes', and here they were- and their food was arriving.

The waiter placed a steak in front of him, and he eyed it dubiously. It didn't even smell appetizing. He picked up his fork and knife and poked at it, as if it was likely to jump off the plate and attack him.

"Something wrong?" his date wondered, already taking a bite of her meal.

"No," Alex muttered, and set to cutting the steak into easy-to-eat pieces. He put them into his mouth and chewed mechanically, but there was no flavor, either. He figured, upon later reflection, that the lack of flavor really should have been his first clue.

It was only when his meal was half-finished that he began to feel strange. His date was talking, but he didn't know what about- he'd started to tune her out, more interested in the battle that seemed to be taking place inside his stomach. He felt like he'd swallowed a ton of bricks.

"E-excuse me," he blurted, interrupting her. "I have to go- I have to pee." He felt his cheeks turning bright red, but it was too late to take it back, so he beat a hasty retreat into the men's room.

Even the bathroom was swanky. He leaned against the marble countertop and stared at his strange face in the mirror. He hadn't actually tried eating food before- there hadn't been a reason. Consuming gave him all the energy he needed, and he'd never really felt hungry enough to try anything else. But it was pretty obvious that he couldn't digest the steak he eaten. He wondered where it even went- did he even have a stomach?

Alex grimaced at himself, then pushed away from the sink and staggered into a stall and slammed the door shut- a little too hard, as it came off one hinge and hung drunkenly behind him, leaving a gap for anyone to see what he was up to. He didn't really notice, though, too busy bent over the toilet, trying to figure out how to gag.

He braced himself with one hand against the side of the stall and coughed a couple of times, trying to retch. Nothing happened, so he tried again, this time sticking a finger down his throat- again, nothing. He growled and punched the stall, leaving a fist-sized crater in it. He looked down at his shirt and sighed.

"It was such a nice suit," he muttered, and turned his hands into claws.

He ignored the stares as he made his way back to their table, unconsciously smoothing his tie down over the wreckage of his dress shirt and coat. His date turned to him as he sat down, whatever she had been about to say faltering as she caught a good look at him.

"Alex… what happened to your shirt?"

Alex looked down at himself, as if just noticing his clothing hanging in shreds over his torso. He appeared to think it over for a moment, then replied, "I, uh, got caught in a door."

His date raised an eyebrow at him, her skepticism obvious. "And the door just happened to have claws?"

Alex laughed, nervously. "So, uh… have they brought the check?"

As they left, he thought he heard somebody screaming, "Holy hell, did somebody die in here?"

Dana muttered to herself as she flipped off the bathroom light and stepped into the hallway. Somebody was in the kitchen, doing quite a bit of pacing, and it had woken her from an otherwise peaceful sleep- the first in months. She growled and stalked into the kitchen and stopped dead in the doorway.

Alex was hunched over the table, an intense look of concentration on his face as he stared down at a glass of milk. "Alright," he was saying to himself, "I can do this. It's body temperature, like, eight percent protein. I can do this." As she watched, a tendril of black and red seemed to burst forth from his abdomen and reached out toward the glass. Dana gasped, breaking Alex's concentration.

They stared at each other for a moment before Alex cleared his throat, his face red. Before he had a chance to say anything, Dana cut in.

"…Okay, I'm not going to ask. I've caught you doing weirder things." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Just… wash that cup when you're done, okay?"


	2. Touch

They had finished discussing their plans, but neither had left; both stood in a somewhat awkward silence, watching the sun sink down past the Manhattan skyline; what should have been a beautiful sight marred by the helicopters patrolling over the coastline, red clouds of Bloodtox drifting up from the infected zones like an incoming thunderstorm. Alex sighed.

Cross glanced over at him, the man's face a blank mask. Then again, Alex mused, he could be smiling; all he knew about human expressions he gleaned from stolen memories, and he hadn't exactly had time to search through them lately. It seemed like he was forever on the run- destroy this, kill that, do as I say or you'll never get your secrets. There was probably quite a bit he was missing, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.

In a lot of ways, he resented Cross. The man had manipulated him into doing his dirty work, yet like a fool he kept coming back. Maybe a part of him liked being useful, or, if he was honest with himself, maybe he just wasn't capable of coming up with the plans on his own. Either way, Cross's plans usually benefited him as well, and in the end that was all that mattered, wasn't it? Revenge was all he wanted.

But- and nowadays, there seemed to be a lot of 'buts'- he had learned quite a bit from McMullen, before the man had blown his brains out. If he was after revenge, he only had to look in the mirror. He was a self-made monster, he knew that now. He just didn't want to accept it.

"What's wrong, Mercer?" Cross wondered in his low, somewhat wheezy voice. For a split-second Alex entertained the idea of tearing the man's head from his body- he could see himself doing it, easily, blood running down his hands in rivulets, flesh squishing between his fingers and getting underneath his nails. Messy, yet satisfying. Or maybe he'd consume Cross and find out once and for all what the man really thought of him- whether he was just another runner, or maybe something more. A friend? An ally? Someone worthy of respect, and not just respect born out of fear?

Alex looked at his hands, and for the first time, he felt regret. Maybe not regret for his victims; a lot of them had been just as bad as him, monsters in their own insidious ways. He regretted consuming them- the memories they left behind were disturbing enough, the voices always present- but the truth he'd gleaned from them... that was something he could have lived without.

Alex heard Cross coming toward him, but didn't move; even in the unlikely event of an attack, the man couldn't do much to hurt him. Still, he tensed, remembering what had happened after the battle in the hive, when he'd let his guard down; Cross had quite literally stabbed him in the back. He felt another flash of rage at the thought, but then Cross took Alex's hands in his own, and the anger faded as suddenly as it had appeared.

The touch surprised him. Cross had taken his gloves off, and Alex could feel the thick calluses on his fingertips and palms. His hands were warm, and slightly smaller than Alex's. Alex couldn't find a recent memory to compare to it; he had a feeling there were none. Karen had hugged him, Dana had touched him, Ragland had poked and prodded in the name of science, yet none of those moments of contact even came close to this. Then, with a quick squeeze that Alex failed to find meaning in, Cross let go.

Cross was looking at him almost expectantly, and Alex wasn't sure why. He looked down at his hands again, then reached out toward Cross and paused, thinking better of it. The other man only watched, hawklike. Alex couldn't help but wonder why this human could make him feel so insignificant. He hated it. He wanted to kill Cross; he wanted to be touched again. He wanted validation from this man so much it scared him.

"We should get going," Cross said, turning away. He was sillhouetted in the setting sun's light, and though Alex couldn't see his face, something in his posture seemed off. "Taggert will try and make a break for it any moment now. We can't let him slip away."

Alex watched him walk away.


	3. Eli

Something heavy crashed into the concrete and Eli stumbled away, clutching his rifle so tightly his fingers were beginning to ache. His squad was nowhere to be seen; he dimly remembered Sgt. Wells giving the order to retreat and regroup, but he'd been cut off from them by the hunter. He fell back against a mangled car as the latest horror picked itself up from the crater its fall had made in the concrete, hooded face turned away from him.

It was ZEUS. He knew it was obvious, but his mind kept telling him that, over and over again. ZEUS, the monster, who was strong enough to throw cars and fight hunters hand-to-hand, that killed and ate hapless Marines like him without a second thought, completely merciless. He raised his rifle to fire, but couldn't pull the trigger; it was no use. ZEUS could take hundreds of bullets without flinching; he'd heard it from several soldiers who'd had the bad luck to encounter the creature. Shooting it would only alert it to his presence, and that was the last thing Eli wanted.

Only, ZEUS already knew he was there. He watched it stand and it turned its head toward him, eyes blazing from the shadows of its hood. Eli inhaled as it eyed him; he wanted to turn, to run, but he couldn't. He couldn't even move.

It stared, only not at _him_; another crash sent him flying as the hunter landed directly behind him, and ZEUS leapt into action. Both creatures were a barely-visible blur of motion as they met each other in mid-air, the hunter's roar echoing off the buildings around them. Eli covered his head and stopped watching; whatever the outcome, he knew he would be next.

The fight didn't last long. The hunter's growls were cut off abruptly with a heavy _thunk_, blood gargling from its throat and sizzling as it hit the ground in pools. Eli glanced up to see both creatures intertwined, ZEUS' bladed arm buried in the hunter's neck; as he watched, it wrenched the blade out and gripped the hunter's head in both hands, tentacles springing from its abdomen and burying themselves into waiting flesh. Then it was over- the hunter's body fell away, headless, and ZEUS stood the victor, blood-stained, its bladed arm morphing back to normal.

For a moment Eli thought- hoped- that it had forgotten him, but no. ZEUS slowly turned to look at him, and he froze, unable to even draw breath. It began to walk toward him, and he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, frantically trying to crawl away. He knew he was being a coward, but there was no way to fight ZEUS, no way he could even try. His back hit the tire of a wrecked van, and he could only watch in horror as ZEUS closed the distance between them, its arm raising, reaching out-

Eli flinched, eyes half-closing, and waited. Nothing happened. ZEUS had paused, its arm still outstretched, staring at him almost expectantly. The gesture was unmistakable now; hesitantly, Eli reached up, and after a few false starts, gripped ZEUS' hand with his. The creature pulled him easily to his feet.

It turned away almost immediately, making its way through the debris-strewn street, and Eli followed at a distance. It paused every now and then and glanced back at him, and he froze in his tracks; but it would only watch him, expression unchanging, and continue walking. An occasional walker stumbled out of alleys or side streets, and ZEUS casually dispatched them before they could get near Eli, seeming to take great pleasure in ripping them apart. Eli tried not to watch.

Finally, ZEUS paused at a crossroads; up ahead, Eli could see the barrier that separated the red zone and kept the walkers in. He could hear the tanks and soldiers over the wall; strangely, the watchtower was empty. He walked up to stand level with ZEUS, though not quite close enough to be beside him. ZEUS followed him with his eyes, the only part of him that moved.

"Thank you," Eli said quietly; it seemed strange to break the silence, somehow. ZEUS seemed to flinch at the words. Then, it turned and began to walk away, hands stuffed into the pockets of its jacket. It didn't look back.


	4. The Last Day

Dana slept on, through the weeks since Greene's death, since Alex had carried her from the depths of the hive, dashing through chaotic streets with her head cradled on his shoulder, unaware, unseeing. She slept as Alex chased down Taggart and confronted Randall, fought an imposter on the deck of the Reagan. In his last moments before the missile detonated, hovering above dark, choppy waves in a stolen helicopter, he could only think of her.

He recovered, but she didn't. He stayed by her side, hiding behind stolen faces as he watched, and waited. Ragland would look at her and shake his head, but he waited. Dana was all he had left; all he would ever have. He waited.

Six weeks, and Dana slept. Alex wandered the city, unable to do the same. It was quiet around him as he walked, hands in the pockets of his jacket, head down, eyes unseeing. He pushed through crowds of dazed civilians, elbowed his way past Marines who recognized him. Nobody bothered him.

On the last day, he was sitting on a bench, the chilly November wind rolling in off the water. He didn't feel the cold. Ragland's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, but he didn't notice it at first. He fished it out and hesitated, but there was no reason to put it off.

"Yeah?"

"Alex," Ragland said, voice carefully neutral. "Dana's asking for you."

Alex couldn't speak. For a moment the world had stopped completely. Something in his chest clenched, and suddenly he couldn't breath. He dropped the phone. For some reason, his face was wet.

"Hey man, you okay?" Someone was hovering over him, some vaguely human shape that bent over and retrieved the cell phone, handing it back to him. Alex took it reflexively, finally focusing on the person's face; nobody he knew, just a stranger. "Did you... did you lose somebody?" The man asked, his expression concerned.

Alex thought for a moment, then tucked the phone back into his pocket. "No," he said. "I'm just a little cold."


	5. Hunted

Note: This was written mostly on a dare, but I couldn't quite turn it to slash, so gore is the next best thing... right?

The last thing Alex expected was to be attacked out of nowhere by a man who was supposed to be dead, but- he reflected as he struggled to his feet, clutching his neck- bad things had a habit of happening to him.

The man in question glared down at him and tossed away an empty syringe onto the filth-spattered ground. Alex's neck throbbed beneath his palm, feeling too hot to his touch. It wasn't healing, and suddenly Alex had the feeling he'd been in this position before. He raised his hands and shifted them into claws, sighing in relief when they changed without difficulty or pain; at least whatever he'd been injected with wasn't inhibiting his abilities this time.

Cross watched him stand, making no move to protect himself as Alex approached. He soon realized why as the ground seemed to shift from beneath him; he stumbled, then hit the wall of the alley in a heap. His claws melted back into normal hands as he lost his concentration. He lay in the muck, staring up at the hazy purple night sky, and waited for the world to stop rotating around him.

"We don't have much time," Cross muttered, grabbing Alex by the front of his jacket and hauling him up; a feat beyond most humans, considering Alex's weight, but this Cross was no longer human. Alex's back hit the brick with a muted _whump_, hard enough to crack the wall. A cloud of dust erupted around them, hanging in the still night air as Cross leaned in close, chest-to-chest with him.

That was enough for Alex. He grabbed the hunter's wrists and twisted, planting a boot in its chest and pushing it away. It grunted in pain, but caught itself quickly enough; Alex only had time to stumble a few feet, still disoriented, before it grabbed him around the neck. They fell back against the wall, wrestling for dominance. They knocked over trash cans and dented the walls and ground in their struggle, throwing up a racket that competed with the usual nighttime traffic coming from beyond the alley. Alex could only hope someone would hear and come investigate; he needed a distraction, the arm across his throat was tight, too tight, he couldn't breath-

He went limp suddenly in an effort to fool the hunter into loosening his grip. He was weakened from the lack of air and whatever the hunter had injected him with, but not quite out of the fight yet. The hunter didn't buy it, though, and kept his grip, shoving Alex back into the wall face-first. The impact shattered his nose and dented a cheekbone, his lower lip caught against his teeth and burst open. The sensation of flowing blood came as a surprise; none of the wounds immediately closed up on their own, as he was used to.

The hunter let go long enough to whirl Alex around to face him, then put its forearm back across his neck, its other hand shifted into a wicked set of claws that mirrored Alex's, poised over his chest. "That's enough," it murmured into his ear, flexing the claws ever-so-slightly. "No more wasting time."

"What the fuck-" Alex started, but whatever else he was going to say devolved into a scream as the hunter dug his claws deep into his chest. His own hands shifted into claws on their own, and he lashed out, blindly, growling when he failed to hit flesh. Instinct took over, and he lunged at the hunter in a rage, pain momentarily forgotten, even as he leaned into the claws that impaled him; Alex's only coherent thought was that the hunter couldn't easily run away with one hand lodged in his chest.

They hit the ground, Alex on top. He reached out with his left hand to catch himself, bringing the right around to slash at the hunter, but something was wrong with his hand, he wasn't doing any damage, and there was blood all over; a second later, when the pain finally hit him, he realized- the hunter had struck first, the blow removing his arm all the way up to the elbow. Blood spurted from the stump and he stared at it, dumbly, wondering why it didn't regenerate, and the hunter recovered itself, flipping them over. It yanked its claw from Alex's chest and quickly amputated his other arm in an effort to render its prey helpless.

Alex's head felt fuzzy; it was hard to think clearly, pain muddling his mind as he bled out onto the alley floor. He'd always thought he could handle this kind of mutilation, but in the heat of the battle, even the largest wounds healed almost instantly, and the adrenaline had always muted the pain anyway. It had still hurt, but only for a moment- this pain was white-hot and refused to go away, refused to be ignored, and whatever the hunter had injected him with seemed to have taken away his ability to heal.

The hunter loomed over him, its face silhouetted against the sky, and stretched its stolen mouth into a mean smirk that looked so out of place. The hunter leaned into him, hands on Alex's upper arms, using its greater weight to keep him pinned. Alex wanted to keep fighting, but it seemed his body had decided on its own to surrender, at least for the time being. He wasn't out of the fight just yet, oh no, but something deep down inside told him to wait, to act weak, and the hunter would slip up soon enough.

"You should be dead," Alex murmured, his voice coming out raspier than usual. He supposed the strangling and massive blood loss had something to do with it. The hunter only scoffed at him, chancing a look toward the mouth of the alley, its head cocked as if it were listening for something.

"Cutting my head off won't kill me, any more than it will kill you," it replied after a moment, apparently satisfied that they were alone for the time being. It glared back down at Alex. "I was going to show you firsthand..." It released one of his arms, reaching over with the tip of one clawed finger, drawing a line of blood across Alex's exposed neck. Alex flinched, but the blade didn't go any deeper. "But I can't now. Your head won't grow back for a while, and we don't have much time."

"You keep saying that," Alex said slowly, his mind racing. He needed to stall- for whatever reason, the hunter was waiting for somebody, or something. He had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was might be worse than the hunter itself. "What's coming? Is Blackwatch on your trail?"

The hunter only frowned at him. One of his claws melted back into a normal hand, and with that it took ahold of Alex's chin, the thumb running lightly across his split bottom lip, smearing the blood that was oozing out. Then, it leaned down- and Alex thought for a moment it was going to bite him, but no- it licked the blood away, tongue coming dangerously close to slipping inside his parted lips.

Alex went still. From his stolen memories, he had a cursory knowledge of the oral interaction humans called 'kissing', but hadn't exactly had the urge to try it out. He definitely didn't want to do it with the hunter, even if it did look currently look like a man he'd once had some amount of respect for. Somehow, that only made things worse.

He growled, but that didn't deter the hunter; it only smirked down at him and started lapping up the blood on his neck, its fingers probing into the puncture wounds in his chest. Alex made himself be still, to wait for his opening, and when the hunter's mouth met his again, he took his chance. He snarled and bit down on its lower lip, twisting his head with enough force to rip the flesh away. The hunter recoiled; the wound was already healing, but it was still pissed off. Alex spat, tasting copper, and bucked, trying to throw the hunter off.

It only laughed at him. "That's all?" it wondered, pinning him down again easily. "I would have expected you to go for the throat, at least." It was about to say something more, but it suddenly cocked its head; Alex did the same, and he could hear in the distance the approaching rotors of one- no, two- helicopters, coming their way and fast. "Fuck!" the hunter growled, glaring daggers at him. "We're out of time."

"What-" But Alex didn't get a chance to finish. The hunter's body began to change, a cloud of shifting red and black where its torso had been, and Alex knew exactly what that meant. He began to struggle, nearly succeeding in dislodging the hunter, freeing both of his forearms, half-twisting onto his chest in order to elbow-crawl away when the first tentacle pierced his shoulder. He cried out, and more tentacles followed, worming their way into his body in a hundred different places. He fought it as much as he could, keeping his body intact only by sheer force of will, but the pain was too much, too much, now he knew how they'd all felt as he consumed them, all those soldiers who'd begged him, desperate, to spare them. He hadn't listened, and oh, it hurt, being eaten from the inside out-

The alley was suddenly awash in a blinding light, and he dimly heard voices. The tentacles didn't withdraw, but the hunter, distracted, had paused. "Fuck, it's eating ZEUS," Alex heard someone say, their voice mechanical through the gasmask. "Get off of him," another, deeper voice commanded, and heavy footsteps approached them. Alex couldn't move; his cheek was pressed into the concrete ground, pebbles and shards of glass rough against his skin, too drained to even try and get up, even as the hunter's tentacles finally withdrew, doing as much damage as possible on their way out. He moaned, vaguely aware that the sound was even coming from him.

He heard the hunter growl, and felt it shift above him, crouching over his prone form like an animal defending its prey. Alex watched as a hulking figure approached, sillhouetted in the spotlight- a supersoldier. Behind him, a dozen other black shapes stood clutching rifles, waiting. "Get away from ZEUS," the supersoldier commanded again, and after a tense moment, the hunter complied, still growling, obviously displeased. How and why it was obeying, Alex couldn't even begin to guess. It was hard enough for him just to stay conscious, but he attempted to push himself up onto his elbows and knees, to at least attempt to escape. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this- this helplessness wasn't for him, it was for those stupid enough to get in his way, he was too strong to ever be someone's prey.

Someone whistled. "Damn, it sure did a number on him." A boot prodded his shoulder, then kicked him hard enough to turn him onto his side. "Look, it cut off his arms."

"Good," someone else said. "Now he's 'armless. Get it?" Another soldier groaned at the bad joke, and he felt multiple pairs of hands on him, lifting him up, only to set him down again a moment later on his back. He looked up into the Blackwatch soldiers' gasmasks, saw the supersoldier looming behind them, trying to coax the hunter back to one of the helicopters. He heard a zipper, and everything went dark; it took a second to realize- they had zipped him up into a bodybag.

"I want this place cleaned up," an officer yelled. "Who knows if the bastard's contagious. You, you, you- stay here until the cleanup crew arrives. If anyone tries to come this way, you know what to do." He was being lifted again, but he found it hard to care anymore. The darkness inside the bodybag was almost comforting. At least the hunter hadn't consumed him- at least he was still alive, still conscious, still more or less in one piece. Blackwatch couldn't hold him for long. He'd escaped before, and he'd do it again, no matter what. He'd have his revenge soon. But right now, he just wanted to sleep.


	6. Murphy's Law

Note: This story was written as a sequel to Ferric's "If Not for Bad Luck", chapter five of her fic "Voices of the Infection".

Things were devolving into a shitstorm faster than usual. He ducked behind a car as he watched his men firing futiley into the crowd of infected that had them cornered.

"Come on!" he growled into the mic using his free hand to smack at the radio on his belt, but it was no use- either the batteries had died or he'd fallen on it the wrong way at some point in the last half hour. He wasn't even picking up static.

Another explosion sounded from down the street and he covered his head with his arms, feeling bits of metal debris raining down on him. Luckily, none of it was large enough to do much damage. He glanced up, hesitantly, and froze as his gaze fell on the car's side mirror and the monster reflected within it. He only had a split second to dive out of the way before the hunter landed with a crunch of metal and glass, blowing out the tires of the vehicle under its impact.

"Fuck!" For once, the word hadn't issued from him; he was frozen in horror at the hunter towering above him, knowing he was going to die- for sure this time, his luck had run out, and ZEUS was nowhere in sight, not that the creature was likely to go out of its way to help him- he shook his head at the thought, and then Fithian was pulling him away, shouting, terrified, into his face. The gasmask did little to block out the sound.

The hunter lunged at them, grabbing Fithian by the arm and lifting him up; for a moment, the other man held his grip on his vest, nearly taking him along, then he was dropped back to the ground, a stray brick digging into his back as he stared up at them. The hunter opened its bloody jaws, roaring in triumph, then bit down on Fithian's head, the resulting splash of gore from the man's crumpling skull painting his uniform with bright red and grey chunks.

The hunter tossed Fithian's corpse aside and turned back toward him; eyeless though it was, it knew very well that he was there. He finally snapped out of his stupor and began to crawl back as fast as he could, one hand reaching out, seeking his rifle, wherever it had fallen. But he didn't have time to find it, he knew, and even if he had, the weapon would do little against the beast. The hunter growled and crouched, preparing to pounce.

He didn't even have a chance to scream, whether in fear or anger; something had him by the collar, nearly strangling him as he was lifted up, haphazardly. The hunter shrank as he was hauled away, and it took him a second to realize why- he was being carried straight up, up the side of a building, and there could only be one explanation for that.

"God damn it, ZEUS!" he yelled, his voice coming out more petulant than angry. "Where the fuck were you two minutes ago?"

ZEUS didn't answer, even after they were safely on top of the building. It dropped him, harder than strictly necessary, and took off again, its arm forming into a blade even as it leapt. He crawled to the edge and looked down at the chaos below; his squad lay in ruins, yet again, which probably wasn't good for his record at all.

ZEUS landed hard on the hunter that had killed Fithian, its momentum digging the blade deep into its torso. It crumpled, and ZEUS focused on the next hunter, and he fell back against the low wall of the rooftop to catch his breath, not bothering to watch. From the sound of things ZEUS was winning, as usual.

He hauled himself to his feet, staggering toward the service door that led to the stairwell, but before he could open it, ZEUS was back, landing heavily enough warp the tar-covered rooftop under its feet. He sighed and let his hand fall from the door's handle; it was locked, anyway. "What the fuck do you want now?"

ZEUS stared at him, its gaze unwavering and creepy as all hell. It took a few steps toward him and he couldn't help but pull back in disgust. At that, it stopped in its tracks, looking down at itself as if taking stock of its appearance, as if it hadn't before realized it was covered in blood. "A 'thank you' would be good, I guess," it ventured at last, its voice strangely hesitant.

He could only laugh, somewhat hysterically, at the suggestion. "_Thank_ you? Are you fucking kidding me? You killed my squad, used me as bait, and you keep fucking stalking me wherever I go!"

ZEUS looked uncomfortable at that. "I'm not stalking you. We just happen to keep... running into each other."

"Why the fuck haven't you killed me?" He demanded, full of momentary bravado brought on by ZEUS's seemingly hesitant behavior. He could almost forget he was speaking to a monster; easily enough, considering how annoyed he was at the situation as a whole. If he survived this, which was looking to be the case, he'd have to explain how he'd managed to lose another squad and survive, _yet again_. Knowing his superiors, they'd put two and two together and somehow get five, coming to the conclusion that he was a secret ZEUS sympathizer, and that his dealings with the creature were more than just coincidental and definitely unwanted. "What makes me so fucking special?"

ZEUS snorted, turning away from him so that its face was hidden. "You're not," it replied, but there was something about the way it said it that made him pause. "You're annoying. And either stupid or stupidly brave, I haven't figured that out yet. I haven't been going out of my way to find you. I only recognize you when you start screaming at me. You're the only one stupid enough to call me a 'cocksucker' to my face."

"So? Why haven't you killed me for it, then?" It hadn't escaped his attention that ZEUS had avoided answering his first question. Even with its back turned toward him, it seemed strange, like it was as uncomfortable with the situation as he was.

It didn't answer at all this time. He stepped up beside it, all semblance of courage melting away as the silence continued, but he needed to know. He deserved an answer, after all, even if that answer was what he had secretly believed all along: that ZEUS was only toying with him, waiting for him to drop his guard completely before killing him.

ZEUS was staring up at a couple of circling helicopters, but keeping his face positioned away from him, so that its eyes were hidden, purposely not meeting his gaze. Its face was set, what seemed to him arranged carefully to be devoid of any emotion, not that ZEUS had been very expressive before from his experience. Suddenly, he remembered their first meeting: ZEUS's smile that failed to meet its eyes, the emptiness that seemed to emanate from the creature itself.

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

"If you're not going to kill me-" he started, but ZEUS cut him off abruptly, bringing its left hand up to grip his neck. It wasn't tight enough to choke, but he froze, afraid that struggling would provoke the creature.

ZEUS finally looked at him, almost as confused as he was, then loosened its grip slightly. "Sorry," it muttered, but didn't let go. Then, after a moment's hesitation, its face going completely, inexplicably blank, it pulled him close and wrapped its right arm around his shoulders, putting him face to face with it. He jerked, expecting it to squeeze hard, to break his spine and consume him, but nothing happened.

He realized what it was doing with a start, only just managing to keep from laughing, suddenly giddy. "Why the fuck are you hugging me? You really are a cocksucker, aren't you?" Not the brightest thing for a man in his position to say, but he couldn't help himself, the situation was already FUBAR, so he figured he might as well go along with it. Doing so had worked out for him so far, at any rate.

ZEUS let him go, frowning. "I thought maybe..." it started, trailing off as its face went blank again. Then, it shook its head and backed away, running a hand across its forehead, unconsciously pushing its hood back far enough to expose clumps of matted brown hair. Then, it shook its head, sighing. "Nevermind."

"You're a real piece of work," he muttered, glancing away to survey the now-silent street. ZEUS didn't reply. When he looked back, he was alone on the rooftop. ZEUS had taken off without making a sound, and he sighed, partly in relief, partly out of a frustrated annoyance that seemed to plague him whenever he had to deal with the creature. At least it was gone this time, and once again he had survived. He didn't really want to overthink exactly why that was; better to just forget about it and go about with his duties. He turned back to the door to the stairwell, then stopped. "Fuck! You could have at least left me a way to get down, you motherfucker!"


	7. Experiment

Note: This fic was written to make fun of my friend, Ferric, after she did some "research" for us to find out how many missiles to the face Alex could take before he died. She let him stand still so the soldiers could attack him. :D

"It's ZEUS!"

The cry came out over the radio of the poor idiot he was holding up, one handed; the man was struggling in a feeble, resigned way, as if he knew it was no use. To be fair, it really wasn't: Alex was hungry. He brought his other clawed hand up, curling it over the man's helmeted head, and-

Suddenly, he couldn't move. The soldiers were surrounding him now, and he growled in anger, but his limbs just wouldn't budge. The man in his grip had stopped struggling, too, but more out of shock than anything; he started yelling incoherently to the Blackwatch soldiers circling around them, his panic slurring the words, but Alex still managed to make them out: "Don't shoot! Don't fucking shoot!"

It had no effect. Blackwatch's motto was "We burn our own" for a reason. The soldiers began firing, bullets piercing flesh that instantly knitted back together; the soldier was killed in the hail of gunfire almost immediately, but not before muttering, "I fucking hate you guys!" If he could have moved, he would have found the whole thing amusing.

"Keep firing!" someone shouted incredulously, confused as Alex stood immobile, letting himself get shot. It was harder to regenerate now, the bullets sinking in deeper, sapping his strength. He was blown down by a missile and suddenly he could move; growling angrily, he climbed back to his feet, but immediately found himself frozen again. They were calling in the tanks now, and a helicopter hovered overhead, and he couldn't move, couldn't fight- for the first time, he felt what could only be fear-

Donna cackled evilly, the controller laying uselessly on the desk as she propped her feet up and watched Alex take the abuse. The situation was just so cathartic. She dissolved into another fit of giggles as a missile hit Alex in the face, sending him sprawling, and the screen turned grey and red- Alex was dead. Time to report her findings to the rest.


	8. Fool

Karen Parker was no fool. Sometimes, though, it was safer to act like one.

Alex was brilliant, but not exactly the kind of man women would line up to date. He was self-absorbed and distant, but never violent- never violent, because violence was beneath a man of his stature, of course. He was good at pretending, twisting the corners of his mouth upwards in the pretense of a smile, but those who knew him best knew how forced it was. Alex was a solitary creature, she had admitted to herself long ago. They would never work as a couple, but she couldn't help but worry about him. Worry _for_ him, because he was too arrogant to do that himself.

Even after they broke up (a strangely unemotional affair) Karen stayed close to him, watching him, trying to get him to open up to her. But Alex would always brush off her invitations for lunch, or coffee after a long day of work, or a stroll together on the boardwalk. He would only look at her, blue eyes sharpened by the lenses of his reading glasses, and refuse. She sometimes liked to pretend to hear a note of wistfulness in his voice. She was good at pretending, too.


	9. Suicidal Moron

Inside the tank, Taggart couldn't hear Mercer's angered roars, but he could imagine. Beside him, the driver was silent, neither responding to the frantic voices over his radio or reacting to them. Taggart kept his gaze focused on the solid wall of the tank, trying not to flinch at every bang and thud that somehow managed to penetrate the silence inside.

It was all unfair, really. Randall was the cause of it all, Randall who wouldn't fucking _listen_ when he told him they were wasting their time. Randall, who had to go and put a bounty on his head, sending his attack dog to fetch him back. Back to face Randall's particular brand of punishment.

Taggart knew he was a coward. He knew his men despised him for it, but he also knew he was a brilliant strategist, and his place had never been the front line. He was a colonel for a reason: he had all the credentials a West Point education could buy, a long military tradition in his family, and years of service in the Middle East. But he had never been made to lead troops into battle, and modern warfare seldom required such a sacrifice from its officers; at least, that was what he told himself when he was alone, when he couldn't sleep at night, when his subordinates looked at him from the corner of their eyes, mockingly. They just didn't _understand_.

Something hit the top of the tank, something heavy enough to leave a dent. Taggart's hands closed into fists, knuckles turning white, as the armored hatch was torn away from its hinges, the tips of bloodied claws peeking through. The noise was unbearable; it was a warzone out there, bullets pinging off metal and the odd thunk as they hit flesh. Blood dripped down into the tank, followed closely by the man-shaped monster that had come to take his life.

Taggart knew he was a coward. Had been a coward. As Mercer reached toward him, face twisted into an expression of rage, Taggart closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was a coward, but he could imagine he was brave, if only for a moment.


	10. Operation: Cutie Mark

Heller knew something was up the moment he stepped into the room. The lights were off, and Maya and Dana were huddled together at the computer desk, the glow of the monitor casting their shadows against the far wall. They were whispering together conspiratorially, and Heller suddenly felt uneasy.

"What are you guys doing over there?"

Dana pulled away from the computer, almost flinching. "Fuck, man, don't creep up on us like that." Maya was beaming up at him innocently. Fuck. They were hiding something.

"What are you teaching my daughter?" Heller demanded, stalking up to them and leaning over their chairs. "Oh, jesus. Dana Mercer, what have I told you about teaching my daughter how to hack?" Something oddly colourful caught his attention and his rant stopped mid-sentence. "...is that..."

"Ponies!" Maya grinned.

/

Rooks leaned back in his chair with a sigh. What a fucking day. Just like every other fucking day lately. At least none of his men had been eaten today. There was always a silver lining, he supposed.

He booted up his terminal and logged into /Blacknet. A message immediately popped up to greet him, and he clicked out of habit. "What the... 'Urgent: Operation Cutie Mark?' What the fu- OH CHRIST!"

/

"...you sent him My Little Pony porn? How the fuck is that even a thing?"

"It's the fucking internet, James. Everything is a thing."

"... you're not allowed to watch my daughter anymore."

Fucking Mercers


End file.
